NightMinds english version
by GalaMD
Summary: AFTERLIFE  Can't you see the blinding light at the end of the tunnel?  AU postMind the Bugs don't bite
1. Nightmares

**Disclaimer:** None of the recognizable settings and characters portrayed in this store belong to me (I wish!). They are all creation and property of that grace and genius of the paranormal and angsty mystery named Stephen Volk. I won't mention Clerkenwell Films and ITV because they are mean unworthy people cries for axing such a wonderful show after only 14 episodes and when it's received the applause of the international critic, in Europe as well as in the rest of the world. Golden Nymph Awards for Outstanding Lead Actress and Actor for a Drama Series credited the success of the show as it competed with some of today's finest actors and actresses starring in USA's most popular hits. Oh yeah!

The song that gives title to this fic belongs to Missy Higgins and the discographic paraphernalia around her. I think that this ballad contains such beautiful and powerful lyrics that it cannot reach deeper into one's soul only because souls are bottomless.

The other song does not need further presentation, born from the tandem Lennon/McCartney: _Hey, Jude_.

**Spoilers:**Basic idea from the season finale but, since I hadn't watched the last two eps of series 2, it's really an AU-fic that starts at the point where the episode 2x06 ('Mind the Bugs don't bite') ended. I assure you I did not change anything from the original in Spanish. Any coincidence with what was portrayed in canon left me speechless :lol:

**Pairing:** Alison-Robert-Jude.

**Genre: **Angst-Tragedy. Romance. Friendship.

**Rating:**I'd say K or K+, just in case, so read at your own risk 'cause I have a thing for the dramatic factor and I won't take responsibility for any hysterical breakdown. ;)

**Dedications**To all the followers of _Afterlife_ and the many supernatural series that were swept away from TV before their time: _Millennium, Mysterious Ways, American Gothic, Brimstone_… To the fantastic people at _thespiritschooseyou_ board for welcoming me so warmly as one of their own since the first day and encouraging me to publish my first piece in English; Laura, Belle, Jo, Fi, Kim, Cate, Kaye, Steph (and everyone I surely left behind due to my amnesia)… thank you for everything. To my girls, they know who they are, whether they dare to read this new fanfic or not. To Paulino: the only Uncle capable of queuing to get his hands on HP7 and getting custom-made avvies for his oldest niece. To my mother: mum, thanks for coping with my sarcastic comments about your dearest Melinda and not resenting them so much that you did not introduce me to _Afterlife_. I don't know what I'd do without you. But, above all, I dedicate _Nightminds_ with all my heart and enthusiasm to Stephen Volk, Lesley Sharp and Andrew Lincoln. I'll never forget the stories and the breathtaking acting you offered us for two series. A million thanks.

**Note:**Please, forgive the mistaken facts that will appear in this fic and that may differ from canon. I tend to forget details when watching the episodes and I'm too lazy to re-watch them so soon, even to look for the info I need for a fic. [/size

**NightMinds **

Tenderness showed in his eyes, embarrassed like an innocent schoolboy caught red-handedly in the middle of mischief. Suddenly, he looked younger than he really was. Little Josh's shy smile when he waved goodbye at the end of the tunnel, a smile so radiant as the blinding brightness that enveloped the nothingness around them, rescued from the past and drawn briefly across his father's lips.

When he confirmed her suspicions that he was heading to his once again family home, to Jude… jealousy splintered under her skin. She swallowed the irritability that was struggling to be unfairly unleashed against Robert, and gave a nod with a spiritless smile. She was sincere when urging him to return to his wife. He deserved the best and looked exhausted, in need of almost as much quiet sleep as herself. Robert was a good man, charming, with a long life ahead of him, and deserved to rebuild his life with his family. With the woman he had never stopped loving (proven by the eternally faithful wedding band that had never left his ring finger even after the loss, their rupture and her second marriage). With the child that would rapidly settle down in the share of his heart next to the one that was occupied with Joshie's memories, in spite of not being biologically his own.

Alison decided that it was the right time to retire herself, before the Rioja wine that flowed through her veins (she had drunk more than what was usual for her) finally collapsed her brain with more foolish ideas, letting her tongue loose to the point that it dared to say aloud what was really boiling in her guts and scratching her insides. She had to let him go, with all the pain in heart. Now that they had vanquished her demons and they were both free to give themselves the second chance they wished for, she had to allow him the peace of mind to meet the love of his life, who (she was convinced of that) waited wide awake and clinging to the phone for his arrival. She owed him that.

Yes. She needed him. And reproached herself that attitude, her possessiveness over him when Robert had never been hers to begin with. Alison censored her own stupid platonic romanticism, her naiveté, her thoughtlessness, when she forced her jaw clenched to endure the stinging behind her lids every time he mentioned Jude's name. Sometimes she was nearly caught in the act of changing her grimace for an obviously faux smile whenever Barbara interrupted one of their meetings in his office. Nevertheless, she had got quite good at faking and disguising her tantrums (or at least that's what she prayed for) under the mask of polite detachment she wore in front of the other two women who orbited around him like satellites. Their bestest and truest friends, his lover and wife, mother of his only son, and his mentor, colleague and boss.

And there he was. Fixed to the spot at her entrance, under her unwavering stare, while she waited for him to unbolt the door and be gone for the night. Be gone to return to the peace and comforting normalcy of his daily life. But then, the improbable, the impossible, the unthinkable, happened.

It was brief, touching, chaste and almost childlike but feeling the warmth of human touch, of Robert's touch, kindled her spirit. She thanked again to whichever force responsible for making their paths cross two years before for keeping her alive and allowing her to sense the synchronic inertia of their beating hearts, like butterflies flapping their wings ever so delicately inside their chests.

The few seconds his lips remained on the curve of her blushing cheek were enough to make the Shiver return. That pulse of electricity that had chilled her while he held her merely hours before, as desperate as herself to unearth her darkest secret, the one that had fed of her guilt and took root in the desolated purgatory that would become her soul. That terrible piece of her past that had made her who she was now, torturing her for years beyond her wildest and most petrifying visions, bringing her nearer and nearer of delirium and the ultimate self-destruction.

A flash of light blinded her from inside her head, without being projected in her retina. Whispers. Screams. Crying. Heart-wrenching weeping. The unmistakable odour of antiseptics burned in her nostrils, so strong that she recognized it easily as the unique and nauseating smell of a hospital ward. Death in the air, She entertained herself by playing with the threads of life, tangling them up, severing them without mercy. A shrill beep reverberating in her ear threatened to perforate her eardrums.

Alison Mundy jolted awake.

Those… damned premonitions. Strange, unnerving… isolated pieces of a macabre puzzle that she could not figure out, that was never complete until it was too late. Incomprehensible and misplaced images that both tormented her and kept her restless just because she could not ignore the push of her conscience towards the obligation to put those images together and decipher the meaning behind the greater picture. Meanwhile, the visions hammered her sixth senses tirelessly without her being able to identify their origin or the message they tried to communicate. With no clue as to whether they referred to him, herself, whoever's future, his car crash, the derailment she survived… With the uncertainty that those flashes before her eyes could be telling her the story of another person she did not know still, another person that was currently living an undisturbed and merry life somewhere far from her red-painted bathroom.

Frustrated and helpless, that's how she was. Night after night she had been reliving once and again the same fragmented scene. She awoke drenched in sweat in the middle of the coldest night, shaking from the tips of her toes to the wild blond curls of her hair. Her burgundy duvet found her way around her hips or was twisted around her legs, imprisoning her in the suffocating pool of darkness of the bed. She still had the echo of the screams in her ears when she heard herself calling out his name with a broken voice. The sweet caress of his lips lingered exactly over the same trail tears were using to roll down her cheeks. Automatically, her fingers flew of their own accord to the phone but then hesitated above the memory button when she checked the time. Waking a baby up when he had just fallen asleep after his bottle would not make things easier to anyone…

She had not received news from him for days. His mobile phone seemed disconnected or out of service all the time. Was he trying to avoid her? And then the tape of his recording machina had probably rewinded a couple of times with the volume of messages she had left. At first, the situation had not worried her too much. He had done more than enough for her already and she couldn't bring herself to visit him so soon, afraid of being accused of suffering another episode of obsessive-compulsive neurosis. Perhaps he was claiming the space he needed from her, to distance himself from her unsettling and contagious madness.

However, as days went by, fear possessed her. Fear of abandonment, of the thousands of increasingly gloomy explanations for his absence that were growing like weed inside her head during her waking moments. Her dad had stayed enough time to check that she was really okay (that is to say, sane) and that their reconciliation hadn't been a figment of his imagination. They shared a nice touchy-feely afternoon as father and daughter painting her bathroom back in a more conventional fashion of immaculate white. As they cleaned the last and most dramatic remains of her mother's messy artwork they had the chance to reacquaintance with each other and put an end to two decades of disappointment and self-deprecation. Unfortunately, Stan Mundy had to return to Manchester to prevent his landlord from reporting his absence as a way of not paying his rents. Before climbing the bus he embraced her in a tight bear-hug like the ones he used to give her when she was a little girl, making her promise that she'd call regularly and come visit him at Easter.

Her heavy sigh broke the silence in the room. Alison looked at the time on the alarm clock on her nightstand for what seemed like the hundredth time in less than half an hour. 03.14 a.m. Great.

Finally conceding that sleep was not coming back any time soon, she took out a new packet of smarties from the first drawer of the bedside table. Underneath the candy, the shocking headlines in a newspaper cutting cruelly mocked the team of Ghostbusters of Bristol University. She anxiously curled and uncurled a strand of hair in her finger at the memory. After that fiasco, she had convinced herself that she kept the press clipping as a reminder of her naivety and stupidity, the proof of how lowly her gift or curse could fall under the cleverest suggestion and manipulation. It was something to remember that not long ago somehow a twisted journalist enjoyed herself playing games with her mind. That woman had pulled her leg so that she had dragged Robert (and his credibility in the academic community) down with her into the epicentre of the utmost public humiliation. But there was another reason, apart from reprimanding herself, that made her cherish the damned piece, so full of lies and shameful truths. The illustrated feature included the only photo (stolen, of course) she had of him. He looked seriously pissed off and ready to punch the camera out of his way. His brow was frowned and his lips pressed into a thin line. His spine was straight, his head high and he forced his shoulders into that proud posture, full of respectability and efficient professionalism, that he used to adopt around her at the beginning of their… acquaintance. Nothing to do with the humble man, caring and courteous she had got to know over the last two years. A universe apart from the perennial and kind smile he wore in private. Alison traced her index finger over the frameline around the photograph. It was hard. If he hadn't had the support of his greatest friend to mediate in the board of professors, he would have been sacked in no time for devaluing Bristol's University good name.

She shook her head, saddened, and withdrew her longing gaze from the snapshot with reticence, returning her attention to the packet of the colourful round pieces of chocolate. She took one smarty at a time and, placing them into tidy parallel rows, began to classify them carefully by colours following the order of the rainbow spectrum. She realized that she did not have to keep on with that silly ritual but, in some twisted way, that compulsive quirk inherited from her mother had become a part of herself and gave her a sense of the familiarity and the normalcy she longed for. She found that she missed the presence of her mother, after all, and this was her only comfort with every other living person – Robert – out of her life. Old habits die hard, especially when it helped to release the tension and calm down her anxiety. Cleaning, putting in order the perfectly well-organised pieces of décor in her living-room, classifying smarties… kept her busy. Busy and awake, for she did not want to sink in the restless sleep filled with nightmarish visions in which she relived that night in full-colour cinematic motion. The flashes slowed down and froze in time and space to show her details she had not been able to notice at the time due to her emotional block or because they had developed far from her perception field. Like the frailty and weekness in Robert's always serene and educated tone of voice, his inner fight against that constant migraine. The dead sound of an empty pill bottle as it crashed on her kitchen worktop because it clumsily slipped from the sweaty and trembling hands of its owner. She saw it rolling on and on and Robert's despair when he found the missing pills. Hear head was plagued with snaps of the aghast expression that contorted the normally restrained countenance of her friend when she spitefully proposed that the only plausible explanation for her father's sudden wish of meeting his hopeless daughter was that of a terminal illness. That her dad was desperate for putting a closure to their wasted father-daughter relationship and clear off the weight of his conscience. Alison had believed (not without satisfaction) that the darkness that crossed Robert's features that night had been caused by the venom and bile she had injected to her black humourless joke. Now… she was not so sure. She caught the trace of remorse in the depths of his green-eyed gaze. Pig-headed as he was, she doubted very much that his shame derived from the fact of not having respected her wishes, the space and the distance she had kept from her father for years. It was not because she had violated her trust. That new emotion that shadowed his all-mighty confidence was beyond all of those trivialities…

In truth, she knew now that she would be eternally grateful for his royal busy-body attitude. Nevertheless, when she reflected on those tense moments, frightening suspicions arose in her mind. Alison tried to ignore them, to elude the random possibility that they might be real. She hadn't the strength to search for clues and verification, even though a lifetime of experience told her that the dreams would not abandon her until she looked for the truth. On the contrary, the nightmares got more precise and vivid every night. Colours were brighter and shadows thicker than those she could relate to memories or usual dreams. Incoherent mumbling and soft whispers pronounced now words she could identify. Her pulse raced and pounded in her ears, made her hand shake as she fumbled with the smarties. Most of them were pushed from the perfect rows into mayhem of colours and the red ones were thrown from the nightstand. Their fall was soundless and then scattered in every direction onto the maroon fitted carpet, like drops of fresh blood on a coagulated puddle.

Alison did not take the trouble to pick up the mess. Shivering in spite of the central heating, she got up from bed. The chocolate candy crunched under her feet. She could not have cared less for the poor carpet. Screw the carpet. Screw order and normalcy. She needed out. To breathe some fresh air. A walk through the docks would surely clear up her head. Perhaps. No. She couldn't. She was going crazy. That… that could not be healthy. She had never been a lovesick, easily infatuated schoolgirl. Alison Mundy had adapted herself to solitude. Over the years, she had got used to being a walking oddity, a freak of nature whom no man could endure a long-lasting relationship with. Her… husband, the one who cherished her so much, that overwhelmed her with trustful words of affection and 'till death do us apart promises, proved her the point when he left her early one morning after only a year or so of their pathetic and failed marriage. She ran a hand through her frizzy and tangled curls. Somehow, the feeling of imminent danger did not go away but she would take shelter in her lonely armchair in front of the TV. Hoping that the sun would come out quicker that way, while she faked interest in the hundredth midnight re-run of _I, Claudius_.

As always, she descended the steps one by one, slowly, tentative, as if she expected something unpleasant to assault her at the end of the stairs. The touch of her hand as it slided down the banister both chilled her fingertips and sent intense bolts of electricity in the form of images through her nerve ends to her defenceless brain.

_ The sudden bitterness of __his detachment, the acid scepticism a couple of days after he had confessed he was beginning to really understand the magnitude of her gift, to see beyond what he could feel, touch and measure with his psychotechnic tests. Robert's astonishment as he nearly tripped down her stairs, trying to escape the madness of observing her mother's artwork. Red tiles and porcelain, red applications, red towels and red mirror. Red all around, clouding his already blurry vision, scratching his retinas. The moment he made the decision to contact her father in her stead. His concern for her, as he followed the trail of despair up to her bedroom with the intention of talking sense into her, of persuading her that she should try to have an open discussion with her long-missed dad. The hesitation when he invaded the sanctuary of her privacy, brave and responsible enough to face in person her exploding rage. The dizziness that stopped him in his tracks and forced him to grasp the wooden banister, like a castaway clinging to his lifeboat, until his knuckles turned whit and sweat broke in his brow due to the effort of sustaining his weight on shaky weakened legs._

_The efficient voice, sweetly compassionate and committed, of a woman speaking to him. Educated but obviously tactless when communicating the bad news that started the gears of catastrophe. _

_You have a brain tumor. It's located on your brainstem. __Malignant. Incurable. Inoperable. Intractable. Worst pronostic of all. _

_Everything spinned in a macabre merry-go-round. __The universe collapsed in an endless spiral, prepared to collide against the absolute nothingness._

The epiphany was like a chill that crept up her spine and made her eyes open wide. Tears did not find obstacles anymore and flooded the bluest blue of her shocked stare.

No. No. Nononononononononono. Couldn't be.

Couldn't. Just couldn't.

Not Robert…


	2. The phone call

A feeling very much like that of a metal bar going through her, twisting her guts as if they were being torn apart by the claws of a savage beast. Her soul broke down and the anguished sobs got stuck deep in her throat. Nothing came out of her lips but a dead guttural sound. Pure agony.

She barely had time to cover her face between her hands, too slow in her attempt to block the tears and the bombardment of visions and sensations that rolled on around her and inside her inner eye, like an old film in fast-forward motion.

Alison could not escape it.

_Grief and worry about keeping secrets and hiding the truth._

_Fear of being discovered. _

_Guilt._

_The constant crash impacting his temples, from inside, like a restless creature struggling to break free through layers of tissue and the bone of her skull. The knowledge that painkillers weren't enough and clouded his mind. He could not think properly, he wasn't sleeping well. _

_He did not trust his own judgement anymore. The need and desire to believe – believe in Her - was so powerful and compelling…yet so hard. Now…he did not have the certainty of the truth behind what he had seen. He was scared that it was all the result of his easily influenced mind, tricks of his malfunctioning and ill brain. _

_The shelter and security in the cocoon of warmth that was having Jude's body next to his, with her head leant peacefully over the patch of skin over his heart. _

_A baby crying for the rubber teat of his milk bottle, the fascination of reliving the joy to have a tiny person gurgling in his arms, moving little fists in the air between them. The soft fluff of blond hair caressing his chin and the unique, purely innocent smell that reached his nostrils, a mixture of soap and baby lotion, soothed his pain, alleviating the pressure inside his head. _

_The pang of shame as he watched Barb burst into tears in front of him. Because of him. Tears of impotence because she could not help, was not allowed to do so. Tears of anger because she was thrown away again and again whenever she tried to get close enough to offer her hand. Because she had betrayed her best girl-friend's trust, her principles and even their own friendship to keep her word and obey his request of not telling anything about her tumour to Jude. _

_The bottomless pool of blue in Alison Mundy's eyes as they filled with frustrated tears while she fiercely tried to convince him that his dead child was there, right next to him, trying to contact him through her. The triple suffering condensed in that room, intoxicating: that enigmatic woman's, his and that of the little lost boy who was supposed to haunt them both. He knew she was being honest, that she was not lying deliberately when bringing him such a heart-breaking message… She genuinely believed in what she saw but he still couldn't decipher the mechanism which made her hoax work so well on him. The air around them was charged of sorrow and burned his lungs and clouded his thoughts, making him rant, rave and hurl awful insults at the blond woman with the tired smile like he had never believed himself capable of._

_The unmistakable voice of Joshie apologizing for the fatal seconds of distraction which the little boy blamed for the car crash he had died in. His hiccuped weeping through Alison's lips ripped his scepticism apart until his oldest unhealed wounds began bleeding again. That night, the seams that had barely hold him together for five years came apart so that they could scar with time._

_The almost tragic finale of the séance the year before. His panic going in crescendo, beating in his chest in synchrony with every minute he wasted crying over her unconscious figure while they waited for the ambulance to arrive. She had been freezing cold to the touch and deadly pale as her body was lying limp in his arms. The incoherent mumbling he kept whispering in her ear all through those endless seven minutes:[/i _ you'll be okay, I'm here with you now, be brave, hold on a bit longer, nopleasedon'ttakeheraway…

_[i__In a flash she went through the months she had been asleep in a comma, unknowing of his daily visits. All the evenings he spent beside her hospital bed, silently reading the newspaper or commenting aloud the latest witty remark those mini-Roberts, like she had call them, had come up with in an essay or test. She saw herself through his eyes, lying on the bed, connected to the respirator, the rhythmic beeps of the monitors matching her heartbeat soothing his distress…_

_She watched him take her hand for the first time one late evening for the lack of a better goodbye. __He promised to come back the next day. And the day after. _

The carpet had transformed into a swamp under her feet and she was plunging deeply into that quicksand made of his memories little by little. With every shake of her body, her back slid down the wall she had been leaning on for support until she was sitting on the floor with the spiritless expression of a broken doll.

Who the hell did he think he was? Why? Why hadn't he told her? She… she would have been there. She would be. Okay. Maybe… she couldn't have done anything practical to take away a terminal tumour (she felt herself disintegrate from inside out) but she would have parked her obsessions and personal problems. She would have tried harder than ever to make things easier for him instead of reproaching him his mood swings and mistakes.

Bloody selfish bastard. 

She repeated the swearwords over and over, like a mantra, beating the back of her head on the wall till it hurt, as if expulsing all the bile that was flooding her guts at that moment could get her to assimilate the betrayal.

Was it because he thought that it did not really matter to her?

That she had no concern for his safety, his health, for what happened to him?

That she wouldn't find out sooner or later?

Alison wiped away the tears that sprung to her eyes with the cuff of her flannel pyjamas and stood up, furious and thoughtless. Hysterically, she started looking for the telephone under every cushion in her living-room.

He would regret the day he was born.

She would phone his number once again. She would insist until he picked it up. Then, she would give him a piece of his mind.

Never mind if he was a dying man or not.

She could not care less if she awoke Jude from her beauty rest or if the baby howled and wailed in his cradle because of the annoying untimely ringing sound.

The world could fall down tonight but he would have to hear what she had to say. Even if that meant banging his door at two in the morning until the neighbours called the police…

_One._

_Two._

_Third signal…_

_Four…_

_Five._

'_Hello, this is Doctor Robert Bridge speaking.' _Listening to his voice startled her, as it had in her other calls in the previous days. She shut her eyes tightly. '_Obviously I'm not in right now but you may leave a message after the tone and I'll attend your call gladly A.S.A.P.' _ He had to be home, he had to pick up the phone. Pick it up. Robert, pick up, for the love of God.

To hell with his gallant attention, she spitted with resent.

Alison tried to reach him again in the number of his boat house. She crossed her arms over her chest while she waited. There was a ringing signal but nobody answered the call. She hung up and dialled the number again, holding the receiver between ear and shoulder so that her hands were free to go through the drawers in the search of the yellow-pages listing. Again she interrupted the phone call and changed of strategy by dialling Robert's mobile and fixed phones numbers in turns. Over and over. Which was the Jude's surname? Her maiden name? Robert's? The second husband's? Alison turned the phone listing pages with feverish eagerness, too violently, tearing some of them in the process. In fact, she kept calling but had stopped paying attention to his message in the answering machine and in the voice box of his mobile, immune to the cultured inflection and smart smoothness in his voice.

For the twentieth time there came the beeping signal that announced that you could leave your message. Her impulsiveness finally won the battle over the pragmatism which advised her of the waste of breath that was leaving a message in a place where the owner probably did not live anymore. She hesitated yet swallowed her pride.

'Good morning, Robert.', she greeted in a sickly sweet singing voice, which took her the double effort of biting her tongue and appear casual. 'I guess that, even if you were at HOME, you aren't too keen on picking up phone calls at all. Oh, I'm sorry. Picking up MY phone calls. Because you are a coward…. I understand that you need and deserve time to dedicate yourself to your family, to your job. I accept that, it makes me happy for you. I just hoped a little tiny bit of deference to me. Not much, just a phone call once in a while to show or fake some concern for me and how I'm managing being all alone by myself for the first time in thirty years after freeing my mother's spirit. I could be going mad, for all you know. I'm not, thank God, but thanks for your interest and attention, Robert. Damned good psychologist that you are. Do they teach you a course on tactlessness now at University or what? 'Cause you surely passed with flying colours.' She took a deep breath but the anger did not fade away. 'I'm only lucky to be a neurotic busy-body that's always getting her knickers in a twist and worrying for the people…she cares about and considers as friends. Tell me, Robert. How are your headaches?'. Not even swallowing dissipated the vibratto in her voice. Any other way of clearing her throat failed miserably. She did nothing else to conceal her crying. 'Were you planning to tell me someday? When??!! When I saw your obituary notice in the papers by chance? When I suddenly found a plaque with your name on it in some corridor at campus after months of not knowing anything from you? Bastard… I thought, believed that – well I'm not that sure anymore – but I reckoned we were friends. After all we had gone through, after how brave you were and how you brought my sanity back to me… after your support and the way you've helped me out of the dark sucking hole which was my life before meeting you… I thought this meant something to you. That there was respect between us.', she sniffed. 'I've lost my faith now. I'm beginning to realize that I've been wrong all this time. That I was too carefree in taking for granted your friendship. I'm beneath it, am I? Was I a fool to think that you would turn to me if you ever felt the need to do so? That you could and would rely on me with something as… huge and life-threatening as this is? With everything you had seen and experienced, of knowing the real me, even the most intimate and painful of the secrets of my past… was I wrong to think that you would accept my hand? Maybe… maybe I'm not good enough, rational enough, clever enough for all-mighty Doctor Bridge to include me amongst the members of his exclusive fanclub, of her inner circle. This has made me understand something at last. My stupidity. That I'm a stupid idealist. That this was all business. After all, you said so yourself from the first day: let's keep all professional, for the sake of research and all that jazz… What was it? How did you call it then? Oh, yes. Author-subject relationship. I was simply your pet-project, the theme of a book, a source of serving your scientific curiosity. You X-rayed my soul to have material for that paper and a good example of lunacy to exhibit naked in the classroom. No attachment. No implications. No Freudian transference or counter-transference for us.' She could not breathe. Air was rarefied and the walls were coming down on her. 'Well, you should have magnified the small print in the contract, Robert. You should have…'cause… now you're dying. You're dying. Dying. And I knew nothing about it, damn you! And for that I hate you with all my heart, Robert Bridge, I hate you…".

She wanted to throw away the receiver far from her. Throw her memories of Robert to the river tied to a lead weight, so that they would sink fast and the ache deep inside her would subside much quickly. Her memories and his, and everything she had got to see and feel in the flashes of visions behind her eyelids. In that night when their faces were barely inches apart and she could feel the heat and affection radiate from him like a soothing balm, his fear for her state of mind as she drowned in her mother's madness but his strength as he reached to her and guided them both back to the present and the safety of his hands. That way she would not miss him, she would not feel the pressing need to cling to him. She would find comfort in the blessed oblivion and the eternal sunshine that was ignorance.

The earpiece was hot against her cheek but she did not hung up, as expecting to hear his real voice the next second. An apology for his mistakes, a single excuse, a confession in which he stated that the feeling was mutual and he would accompany her to the madhouse gladly.

Anything but the response got by her laboured breathing and the arpeggios sobs played on her larynx. A _click_ suggested that the answering machine had been disconnected. Then there was a new trembling breath in the other side of the line, as weak as her own, incapable of gathering enough willpower to pretend composure.

'You…'. It was a vaguely familiar voice but not masculine in the slightest. Paralyzed by grief, bleeding but dry and rough, and it sanded the edges. Definitely that of a woman's. 'You don't hate him…'. The voice was openly crying out now, cracking and exploding like crystal right next to her.

Alison recognized her the person she was talking to. The knot in the pit of her stomach grew and pulled her down with the weight of realization. Down…down… plunging her into the deepest despair. In chaos.


	3. Drink your sorrow away

'Is this…is this Jude?', she asked in a high-pitched voice she almost did not recognize as her own. The question was rhetorical despite the interrogation mark which closed her words. She got no confirmation for response but it wasn't like she really needed or expected it from her speaker. Nevertheless, a thousand of questions welled up in the forefront of her mind. What happened? Where was Robert? What was she doing there, in his house, at four in the morning? Why the hell wasn't he with her? And that crying…her crying… Nonononononononononononoitcouldn'tmeanNonononononoo….

Alison was struck dumb but she listened to the trembling voice that had began talking, so weakly and hoarsely that it seemed to come from another galaxy, miles away, instead of a local Purgatory across the bridge. Jude's tone faltered and withered with every word. She spoke between whimpers and violent sobs and Alison couldn't make sense of many of the disconnected sentences due to the mutilating hiccoughs that had overtaken the other woman. However, the anguish and grief that rimmed what she was saying talked by themselves. No need to be a psychic to interpret the clear overwhelming meaning of her message, which stung in her heart like a dagger being twisted round and round through the five year-old scars that criss-crossed her belly.

'A couple of nights ago… after being at your house.' The younger woman couldn't have thrown a more resentful and callous reproach at her. Still, Jude kept going and she refrained from hanging up. 'He came back very late. I-I was asleep. Didn't think he would return. Got tired of waiting for him and imagined he had preferred to spend an overnight stay… at some other place.' Alison winced at the subtle but cynical insinuation. Another coup de grâce for he professor's wife. 'When I woke up to feed the baby…I f-I found him in the armchair at his study with a…sheet of paper fallen at his feet and his earphones on. He had probably been revising a list of songtitles and fell asleep. No surprise, with the Beatle's White Album to get him groggy…', she half-cried and laughed, possibly recalling some crazy anecdote revolving around walruses and Robert. 'He was sleeping. I thought he was. Perhaps that's why it took me so long to react. I don't know… I…I don't… just. He wouldn't respond. He wouldn't wake up when I slapped him and shook him. I thought I felt a pulse but wasn't sure. I thought he had just passed out because of the headaches. They had worsened. I knew even if he wouldn't tell me. I phoned the Emergency number and the ambulance arrived and they couldn't revive him. Rushed him to the hospital. Doctors told me he had fallen into a coma. Nothing anyone could help with. I waited and waited. They told me he could wake up any minute, in years or maybe never again. That…damned thing, it had grown and spread- the tumour - and would get larger and increase the pressure inside his head until it compressed the vital parts of his brain. But then… he just stopped breathing. His heart failed him. And, oh…'. A little baby's crying joined his mother's morning and her own, the tragic soundtrack of that Greek elegy where they were all suffering life-changing losses. The loss of faith, trust and hope. The loss of the one love, of a caring father, a husband, a friend. Jude tried to placate her son by humming softly an improvised tune. Alison imagined she would be rocking the child almost hysterically, as if balancing movement on the ball of her feet could soothe her too. Shh-shh, as she carried on with her tale and catharsis. 'He had to be intubated and connected to life-support but it was useless… Robert…Robert's died tonight.' The world spinned and spiralled out of his axis. 'Tomorrow is the funeral service. At Rendland Chappel, just like he arranged it. Well, he arranged practically everything, even the stupid funeral music. It was what he had been picking up that night…', her laugh broke into a million pieces. It was angry and embittered. 'I imagine he would have wished you to be there. He…he left you something else at home too. You must know… that he appreciated you fondly. So much that he broke his promise to me and ignored my ultimatum of not seeing you ever again…'.

Alison knew that she should send her condolences to the widow.

State that she felt the deepest sympathy for her loss.

That she was much sorrier than what she showed at the moment.

But everything around her, beyond herself and the telephone she was clinging to desperately, beyond the baby's crying in the boat-house… dissolved into a vortex of helplessness, hurt and resent against Robert, God and the Universe.

She murmured a feeble 'I'm sorry – I'll try to be there' but it carried much less conviction that what she had intended, and then cut off the call.

Her eyes were rimmed in red, and bloodshot, but dry and her back cracked audibly when she changed her pose. Yet, she did not feel the pain nor the cold, only the devastating emptiness which expanded in front of her, that feeling of numbness, of sorrow that she had never experienced, not even when her dear Auntie Vi, who always was like a mother to her, passed away. Alison went trough the motions of breathing, blinking and getting up from the floor on shaky legs. She lurched sideways, like a zombie from one of those old Hammer classic films, when seeking refuge in the sanctuary of her kitchen and the solitude and safety bubble drunkenness provided.

She helped herself a decent number of glasses and sat down at the table with the stiffness of an obedient private-schooled girl at Christmas Eve Family Dinner. Perhaps if she got drunk enough, if she stayed silent and dead-still she could imagine or pretend that he was still alive and would call her back while munching cereals for breakfast. Perhaps, if she resisted the temptation of drinking till she got alcohol poisoning she would be the one to wake up from that horrible, horrible nightmare. Perhaps she would hear the bell ringing at the main door, open the door and see Robert again, standing under the early morning light, smelling of after-shave and cologne, and anxious to get her to talk and discuss the topic of a new chapter for the book he was working so hard on.

But our loved ones (oh, and she had learnt that lesson well), wouldn't and couldn't come back from the afterlife even if that was the only wish you had in life. Despite the sacrifices you made or how much you prayed to God and all his saints… there were certain natural laws regarding Life and Death that prevailed over dreams and love.

Far from being warmed up by the dose of alcohol pumping through her veins, the room had got colder all of a sudden and dawn seemed to delay the arrival of a new day deliberately, making that night a hell of dark eternity. There, bent over herself and bottles of wine and brandy, the pathetic caricature of the woman called Alison Mundy counted the minutes, sip by sip, as she watered down the strength of the liquor with more tears.

'You should not drink this much, Alison.' She lost control of her fingers and the glass slipped from them. It gravitated in the air and fell, breaking with a loud crash. No. No. No. Alison closed her eyes but felt the prickle in them and the wine pooling on the table, dripping on the immaculate floor. There was throat-clearing sound behind her back and the soft pressure of a hand upon her shoulder. Colder than the night, than the rainstorm she felt raging inside. Cold as only Death could be. 'Not even for me…'.


	4. Shibalbaed

**Note:** The imagery at the end of the scene was inspired by the film The Fountain, starring Rachel Weisz and Hugh Jackman ;)

This is dedicated to You, whoever you are, for getting to this point in the story :)

* * *

Alison refrained from bursting out. She wanted to stay steadfast, to keep cool-headed. Her unblinking stare fixed upon the nothingness in front of her. Just ignore him. Pretend he wasn't there. Dead, seeking out her help. Turning to her even though he had not been able to do so when he lived. However, she found herself helpless to the attraction and the pull his presence exerted on her, calling out to her soul. The need inside her was like a magnetic force that drew her to him and her resolve vanished. She slowly turned her head to the right until she caught a glimpse of his hand, the one with the engaged ring finger, out of the corner of her eye, as it wavered above her shoulder as casually as her own gesture had been on one of their first meetings.

The medium wouldn't dare to push back her chair to stand up and face him eye to eye. Not that her immutability mattered, for he made the next move too. The sound of soft steps reached her ears until they stopped in front of her and she had no choice but look straight into his eyes. He looked exactly the same as the night she had last seen him. Alison had been seeing the spirits nearly her whole life and they did not differ much in appearance from their living personas. Still, she couldn't rationalize why she would have expected anything different this time. Perhaps she had got carried away by her vivacious imagination after listening to Jude's report of events but she had pictured him with bruises and some orifice from the insertion of the tracheostomy, a bandaged head after an emergency neurosurgery intervention as the last chance to alleviate the pressure inside his skull.

Instead, she encountered none of that. No external signs to prove the hell he had gone through. He was composed as ever, the handsome and competent University lecturer, dressed in an unwrinkled brown jacket and casual trousers. The paleness of his skin and the slightly blueish tone of his lips could have been gone unnoticed in a cold winter day.

Raising another glass to him, her glazed eyes went through Robert's spirit as it seemed to pierce what once was a body of flesh and bone like a knife.

'I'd invite you to a toast for the success of your grand finale but that would be a waste of wine, given that you can't even drink it. Jeez, I never took you for one of those drama-kings…'. At her tone of reproach and accusation, he looked away and lowered his head, which she interpreted as unquestionable signs of embarrassment. Good. But still, his remorse only made her rage as apparent as her grief. 'Besides. I may drink as much as I please. Don't think you have the right to break into my home and give me friendly advice after…after this', she signalled the dark space between them with her occupied hand, sprinkling drops of wine everywhere. In a sudden and unpredictable fit of her fiery temper, the glass was smashed against the kitchen wall. Both of them stood perplexed, speechless, watching as the dark red liquid soaked the green paperwall and formed a scarlet stain that grew larger and began to trickle down to the floor below.

Robert blinked intermittently a couple of times. Were he still alive, his heart would have been thumping wildly against his ribcage. The violence of her outbursts never ceased to amaze him nor the pulse of energy that would come out from that generally peaceful woman in ravaging waves due to the adrenaline rush which was pumping through her veins. The strength and fierceness, like that of an ancient valkyrie, merged up in moments of tension, and seized her self-control and her reason. Nevertheless, it was impossible to move away or flee from her wrath and the thunderstorm that raged in the steel-grey halo around her dilated pupils. That wild beauty that flashed in her expression fascinated, enchanted him, despite the intimidation and the fear, and lured him into the epicentre of that supernatural outbreak.

Yet, there was something else under the disguise of her rage. It was new and unusual, different from what he had encountered in her eyes in similar situations. It was darker, bloodcurdling and heart-rending. Disappointment and hurt radiated through her features while she hyperventilated. The vision of her wrecked state, of her in such emotional turmoil paralyzed his vocal chords and reminded him that he was not the only victim in that crash-and-burn scenario. Alison's unbreakable spirit was in truth mere vulnerability under a fragile suit of armour made of volatile temper and self-sufficiency and it was obvious that it hadn't resisted the blow. Her façade was falling down and soon there would be no defences left to protect her. He could not and would not tolerate that she threw herself into the abyss of self-destruction due to her stubbornness. Not when she had finally recovered the reins of her life. Robert was decided not to become her executioner, the cause of her suffering. He would have never hurt her on purpose.

Quite the opposite.

'Alison…'. He tried to approach her again, her name pronounced in the barest of whispers. There was no pretence in his act of repentance and he treaded carefully around the edges of the word, as if requesting permission even though he felt that maybe he was not deserving of it. As if he had really come to understand her right to be angry and upset. Apologetic, he softened the 's' until it sounded like a prayer to God instead of a common mortal's first name. Things had changed for both of them all of a sudden and the chance to tell her himself had been robbed because of his cowardice. He told himself that it was never the right time and place to break the bad news to her: firstly, he had had to assimilate his terminal illnesses, help Jude to assume it too, console Barbara, sort out his priorities before the end and accompany Alison in her own nightmarish descent down memory lane and bring her back safely. She surely had to comprehend what it had been like for him… or he would have to make her understand.

'Robert', she cut him straight, like a whip-lash, while turning her back on him with condescension. 'Leave. You are not welcome here anymore. Nothing ties you to this place and you have no unfinished business here. If what's brought you here is the need to contact anyone… I'm afraid I won't be able to help you because, to be quite frank, you were the only person that was beginning to take me seriously and did not think of locking me up in a mental hospital at the first opportunity. So… Just go'. Alison crouched down on the floor and started to pick up the million pieces of crystal that had been an abused glass not long ago. She was not paying attention to what she was doing, more focused on ignoring him, and the splinters seemed to leap from her hands and puncture her fingertips and palms. It was a childish and rude way of dismissing him but he was going nowhere till she deigned to talk to him as civilized adult. 'Go haunt someone else's house, wander like the poor lost soul you are around your kin. I'm sure your wife is broken and needs the comfort of your ghostly presence to overcome her mourning. More than I do, at least'.

She saw a shadow moving out of the corner of her eye and it was too late when she realized it was him, crouched down beside her. Alison forced the lines of her face into a neutral expression and fixed her aim on collecting the little crystals and avoiding the pond of spilt wine on her floor so that she wouldn't soak wet the legs of her pyjama bottoms with it. Her objective was keeping her hands busy and her mind occupied so that she would not give in the desperate need of launching herself into his dead embrace or surrender to the mischievous desire of gouging his eyes out with her own nails, incapable of standing the unforgivable affliction and remorse he was bathing her with.

With no time to react or resist the longed-for invasion of her isolation bubble, a cold freezing hand firmly grabbed her chin and raised her puffy face gently until their eyes met at the same level.

The place where his heart would have been stammering madly felt empty and barren.

'You know how much I dislike that you hide your eyes from me…'. His voice still sounded oddly low and brittle, as the crunching of the cool damp soil of the garden lawn in his childhood home in Salisbury. The gravity of his scolding tone felt too sombre to fit the bittersweet ring of nostalgia.

She stared at him in disbelief, her lower lip quivering. When she came out of her shock and blinked to dissipate the confusion, a lonely and suicidal tear slipped from her eyelashes and gave her away. It streaked down her cheek, rolling till it licked his fingertips. The caustic soda contained in the small particle of salty water would have eaten away flesh and bone had he been alive.

'And you know very well that I hate that you treat me like a schoolgirl. I'm not your pupil, Robert. I'm not a stranger, either. Not even the guinea pig you can play with and control and get rid of depending on your private interests and greater schemes. However, that's all I've ever been for you, up till the very end… your posthumous work. So, what's this, Robert? The epilogue of your study? An experiment to secure your peace of find before you cross over? So that you could check for yourself whether what I had told you and what you were thinking of publishing was all a bunch of rubbish and lies?'

Each and every one of the remarks in the flood of reproaches she fired at him became emblazoned in his soul. Despite the offence caused by her manners and address, he would have acknowledged that it was only fair that she intended to make him pay for his sins. But it was all wrong. She had got all wrong. In the heat of the moment she was confessing that she was turning the real circumstances upside down until he was little more than a manipulative insensitive selfish and amoral bastard. Which he definitely was not.

'Is that the idea you've really got of me after all this time? That, through it all, I was only using you to get my Academic purposes done, with no respect or consideration towards your feelings?'. Robert pushed back the rebellious lock of blond hair that had interposed in the middle of the path of tears rolling down her face. It was intended as the softest of strokes, loving and caring, even though he knew she would only feel the chilling blow of breeze instead of a warm touch.

'Oh, it wasn't like that?'. Alison bit at her lip and raised an eyebrow. 'I can't seem to find another reason for you to… to keep me clueless about the brain tumour that has been killing you for months'.

It was his turn to elude the demanding and disillusioned look in her gaze. He rolled his eyes and lifted them towards the ceiling. Gathering up courage, looking for the right words. God. It was more difficult than what he had ever imagined…

'I just…wanted to protect you…'.

The harsh and perverse parody of laughter interrupted his speech, like the hollow croak of a crow that pecked mercilessly at the remains of the ties that had once bound them together and were nothing more than carrion now.

'PROTECT ME???!!!!!', she spat with a huff. 'For God's sake, protect me from what, Robert? From Death?'. Alison shook off the hand that was still holding her chin more roughly than what was necessary. The inertia made her loose her balance and she fell backwards. Her back collided with the wine-stained wall and she landed sprawled on the floor like an unstringed puppet, flat on her bottom without a pinch of elegance. 'From worrying senseless about you? From the visions that have been tormenting me for too many nights in a row with no idea of what they conveyed, while I hadn't a clue of what was happening to you? Protect me from the craziness those flashes were driving me into? From those dreams of you dying once and again? Nightmares which made me pray that I was crazy and insane after all, so that I could convince myself that you were really safe, asleep in your bed, instead of suffering and dying like those hallucinations of my twisted imaginations told me? Protect me from this pain I'm feeling right now, that suffocates me and tightens my chest?'.

The woman was shaking violently, from anger and emotion, and her fingers clenched in a fist upon the patch of skin above her bleeding heart.

'I was going to tell you, Alison…'. She sent him a sceptic look of puzzlement in response. 'Believe me. I… I never wanted you to find out this way. It had to be me, the one to give you the news… I wanted to. I planned to do it. Soon… now that you had finally beaten your demons and were completely free. I wouldn't dare before 'cause you had enough concerns and problems of your own to deal with mine on top of it all. Especially when this was…beyond repair. A hopeless case'.

Alison shook her head tiredly. She was getting exasperated. How could he be so clever and dumb at the same time!

'Not a good excuse, Robert. I've finally discovered why you don't work as a clinical shrink. Reading people or identifying their needs is not your strong point, is it?'. She crossed her arms under her breasts and gave him a contemplative stare. 'You were diagnosed as having an inoperable fast-growing brain tumour and still helped me to come to terms with the death of my mother and open my soul's eyes so that I could sense her forgiveness and comprehension. You challenged me and made me reconcile with my dad. Helped me become at peace with myself. I owed you. I was not the only one carrying around unbearable weight upon her shoulders, Robert. You had your load of personal demons too, hardest to face. I had been living with my madness my whole life. I would have hold out a bit longer. I knew I could have kept my composure, my sanity… Perhaps in helping you I would have found some focus, some purpose to my efforts, while I accompanied you in your fight. I would have made myself useful instead of a burden… But, God, they knew about it, damn you! You told them and left me out in the dark. I was the only one you were considerate enough to keep the distances with. I'm sure I feel a tiny bit honoured under all the betrayed trust… No. Really. Perhaps it's only a privilege for ex-spouses and old girl-friends to share the pain with dying men…'.

He stopped her ranting with a harsh tug at on her right arm. His bluntness silenced her at once.

'Enough', he shook her until the angry spark of electric blue flickered in her eyes. 'Stop it… It was not a matter of trust. It never was a competition. And deep down, despite this… irate and irrational outburst of yours, you know it. I know that you know. If it were like that, I would not be here tonight. Trying to apologize for the greatest mistake of my life, for not having the guts and the foresight to tell you that very night.' The steel in her gaze melted away. 'I was going to confess, right there at your entrance, but I chickened out in the last minute, the moment you smiled at me. There had been so many… weird, shocking and powerful things going on that night that it felt too much to add another catastrophe to the long list. You were not talking to me, you couldn't reason clearly. Then, there was your father, scared stiff of the shadows in every corner. And the migraines… '. He closed his eyes at the painful memory and, a part of him, thanked the Powers that Be for breaking his soul free of the chains of physical pain. '…the migraines would not allow me the coolness to think clearly".

'I know…', she murmured grudgingly. Deception still seeped through her words. 'But… even so…you should have told me sooner. When you found out about it', Alison tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. 'It would have been me who would have made herself scarce, so that you could have your rest and enjoy your time with Jude. No lunatic clairvoyant to mess up with your brief moments of happiness together'.

'Alison, don't…', Robert clicked his tongue in impatience. 'Don't be so damned thick and closed-minded. These months with Jude, no matter how long it lasted, were a blessing. The closest to…normalcy I've known since…Joshy. And I wouldn't change them for nothing in the world'.

Their lips curved into twin smiles, their complicity strengthened in the middle of their Greek tragedy.

'…but even if Jude doesn't understand it at the moment, she'll be ready to move on with her life. Soon', he paused and emitted a deep sigh. 'What we've had these months was a dream…an illusion. And now it's finally over. She will be free at last… of course she is going to miss me. Always. But she'll eventually realize she has a long joyful life ahead of her.' What feeble hope remained inside her was blown away like a candle in the wind. He had confirmed what she had suspected: he would always love his Jude. And it was odd, for she did not get to even like the woman, but she felt a spark of pride for him. 'Jude has a hope. A beautiful boy to look after, watch grow up and spoil rotten like we did with Josh…'. Robert pressed his lips together and his Adam's apple wobbled as he swallowed the lump in his throat. 'And someday she will come to you and, knowing you like I do, despite your ', his smile was almost a boyish grin, healing, and it comforted her. 'you will be glad to help, despite your differences. You'll ask to hold her hand. To her, to Barbara… as I've always watched you do'.

'You know me like the back of your hand…', she muttered and rolled her eyes. Her expression sostened, though.

Robert shrugged.

'You have become one of the constants in my life. And death…', he added swiftly. 'Well, you know what I mean', he mumbled uncomfortably. She gave him a knowing nod, encouraging him. She understood all too well. 'You…you have taught me so much, Alison. Things that I had laughed at all my life like an arrogant ignoramus. You opened my eyes, my mind…my soul and reason to other realms of existence which I had been too blinded by my science to sense before. Your beliefs could not provide me with irrefutable proof, with wholehearted certainty, but I think it was what made me really appreciate the treasure that was life and enjoy it while it lasted. Your faith gave me strength to keep going and embrace Death when it came. It was hard, too hard, but I realized that that leap was only the next step in the natural course of things. I owe too much'. They locked gazes, hypnotized by the other's eyes. 'And I'm not talking about the bloody book…'.

The corner of her lips lifted, and the most involuntary shy smile graced her mouth. 'I bet I owe you more than that… and I'm not talking about royalties either'. A cloud seemed to cross over her face and put out the light in her shining eyes, leaving only an unfathomable enigma for him to solve. 'I am sorry, Robert. So, so sorry…'.

Alison searched the silhouette of his hand in the darkness and entwined her fingers with his, without batting an eyelid with the change in temperature. It was not long until she noted the slight chilling pressure on her skin and the gentle caress over her knuckles.

'I know that you are sorry. But please, don't pity me, Alison. There's no need for you to feel sorry about something that escaped your control. It was never your fault. It was nobody's fault. And what matters is that you are here with me now, talking to me, keeping me company. You would have been every minute of the time I got left, had I told you about it. I wish you had been right next to me. I wish the circumstances would have been different, that I had the chance to go back in time and do the right thing…'. The melancholy in his unfulfilled last wish was tuned in the same tone as her own yearning. Somehow, and neither of them could bring themselves to rationalize their actions anymore, or just bother with reasons, Alison's blond head fell over the dense immateriality which looked very much like Robert Bridge's shoulder. He slipped an arm around her back and pulled her closer to him, until his cheek was gloriously nested on his friend's crown of golden curls. Robert couldn't hold back the temptation of breathing in her scent. Incense, glycerine soap and the relaxing fragrance of bergamot. He tried hard to remember the mixture so that he could keep the unwithering memory of her entangled forever with the soothing perfume that was genuinely hers. He closed his eyes and combed his fingers through the dishevelled hair, hoping that his strokes would offer at least a little comfort and relieve her dry crying spell.

'I reckon… that I should come to your.. funeral service tomorrow. In case someone shows up and…you wished to pass on some message'. When he did not reply she lifted her gaze to meet his eyes frowned deep in concentration. Thoughtful as always.

'Hmm… it will be better for everyone involved not to create more commotion than what I'm leaving behind… Besides, I'm sure that not even Barb will be too receptive to whatever you tried to tell her'. Her eyes turned blank. He was right. 'But…maybe you can pay attention to your needs for a change. Maybe it would be good for you to go, if you feel like it…', he suggested with caution. 'That way you'd have a sweeter memory to keep and remember me by. People loved me, you know', he kidded.

However, the chuckle he expected did not reach his ears. Instead, he got lost in the silence that filled the room when Alison's heart skipped a beat.

'You…you are leaving…'. She had been deluding herself since she had first seen him that night. Realization downed on her and the sentence was left hanging in the air like a noose.

'I don't have any unfinished matter to tend to. I only…wanted to make sure that everything was…in order before I…went away'.

Alison lowered her head. Of course. Robert Perfectionist Bridge couldn't leave any loose ends behind before going to enjoy his eternal rest.

'And… what about me?', she seemed to reproach him for deserting her, as if it had been his decision to die and abandon the living world in the first place. Despite her sour tone, he was touched by the heart-breaking way in which she clutched to the lapels of his jacket. She was a fighter and could not really let him go, so she grabbed the piece of cloth with both hands, nails digging deep in the fabric, like she was ready and glad to take upon herself the role of being the last rope that tied him to her world.

Silvery moonlight gleams had filtered through the kitchen window and were playing games of reflection across the lines that were drawn over her prematurely aged visage. At that very moment, he could catch a glimpse of the lost girl she still was in so many ways.

'I do not belong here. You don't need to be reminded of that, Alison'. The woman did not protest out loud. Deep down, she was aware that it was the simple truth. Always had, always would be. It was a rule of nature that could not be broken, not even to satisfy a lonesome medium's needs or desires. There were no exceptions, no mercy, not even for the only friend she had ever known. Disappointment made her cast down her gaze but she remembered the importance he gave to eye contact and rapidly stared back into his sympathetic eyes. Robert nearly had the nerve to smile at the change of mind. 'You'll recover. I'm as certain of it as I am sure that there will always be plenty of red-wine in your pantry'. She pursed her lips in a exasperated grimace. 'You are the most honest woman I ever had the pleasure of meeting in my life, a person of such inner strength and integrity…'. He cleared his throat, for suddenly his attempts at joking and making easy chat had turned gloomy in a matter of seconds. 'I apologize for doubting you when I did and… thank you for your patience. With me, with the rest of the people you have tried to help out and the ones that will cross your path in the future'.

Alison moved away from him slightly, just enough to cool her head but not so much that the short distance became a painful chasm. She had never been too good with goodbyes. For starters, because she had never had anyone to say farewell to, apart from her father, and it had been hard enough that very first time. But…she knew she could not waste the unique opportunity to tell him in person the mess of feelings that were tangled inside her. She had to thank him, for holding her and not letting her fall down and loose herself in the darkness of her gift and of her past. For showing to her that, in spite of what she had to witness day by day, despite the contempt and the public scorn, she was not pariah. He was the proof that there were still people out there willing and determined to listen to her, to treat her like an equal. To trust her, confide in her and share a part of themselves with her. That she still could have a life of her own, apart from the death and the spirits. She thanked Fate for leading Robert to that session down the theatre, for allowing her the chance of getting to know him and setting off on that journey of rediscovery next to him. She felt the need to make him understand how much she appreciated him for making it clear to her that, despite that power that made her odd and different and 'special', this had not corrupted her heart. She was human still and Robert had convinced her that she hadn't been deprived of passion, that the sweetest emotions were not forbidden to her. That she could expect something else apart from darkness and thorns, grief and madness. He had restored her faith in love.

Possessed by one of her uncontrollable impulses her hands tenderly slid up the lapels of his brown jacket. As if on their own accord, her fingertips traced the wrinkles of the piece of shirt that showed underneath and dared to perch upon the edge of his jaw. The feather-like touch was delicate and tentative, a quiet request to explore territories beyond those she had conquered so far. The feeling was completely new and disconcerting but it did not really intimidate them. There was no reproving gesture on his part, so Alison took his silence and his stillness for consent. Maybe it was not body-language code for appreciation but the fact that he did not push her away told her that her touch was welcome. She even thought that she had caught a spark of curiosity and expectation dancing in his sharp eyes as her skin met his. In fact, he felt in a trance-like state due to the reverence of her caresses, her presence like the warm light of a distant Star, guiding him through the darkness right into her heart. Robert did not notice when her hands found the perfect twin spots to make a stop over his cheeks. The only thing he could sense at that moment was the lop-sided smile she dedicated him. The quiet and knowing curve of lips that carried her personal signature. And then, as delicately as it all had begun, she planted, gently but steadily, a long kiss on the centre of his forehead. She…who shied away from physical contact…

His eyes closed, surrendering to the candid intimacy of her gesture. Robert would have expected anything from her… but that almost motherly expression of affection. Natural, sweet. Not unlike herself. In the middle of his reverie, he felt her lean her own forehead over the spot she had dropped her kiss moments before. He would have sworn that his frozen heart began thumping again in his chest when he heard her decorate his brows and eyes and nose and ears and collar with a string of whispered _thankyous_, muffled against his cold skin.

Later, none of them would remember who was it the one to make the clumsy and awkward (but oh so strategic!) movement that brought them closer, or which of them reacted firstly to the question dangling between them, just inches from their lips. The transcendental truth (and Truth seemed irrefutable science from the Afterlife) was that they had been orbiting around each other since the night they met. They had started as rivals competing for proving who was capable of shedding the brightest light. Through eternity, they had inevitably crashed against each other in the meteor shower that was adversity. The collision had been violent but not enough to make them part ways. On the contrary, the battling, the bickering had made them connect deep into their souls until they both were on the same track of passage around the Universe, in perfect equilibrium, sustaining each other so that none would fall and perish in a tragic implosion. Now, the stars had aligned, stardust burst in their lungs and everything and nothing vibrated with the knowledge of what was to come. They were bared of pretece and had at last got to the point where they gravitated in synchrony, floating in each other's embrace, while plummeting in the endless fall that led them deep down into the heart of the dying nebula that was the Mayan underworld, what they used to call by the name of Shibalba.

As they lips were captured in an all-forgiving, all-giving kiss, Shibalba shattered and exploded like a supernova. They had a taste of glory…

…_of the saltiness in the deep breath he inhaled on a Sunday morning he was teaching Josh how to fish…_

…_.of Auntie Vi's biscuits of almond and honey, which they prepared every weekend following Mum's secret recipe…._

……_of the half-melted wedding-cake they had been forced to eat with a smile because Barb had left it forgotten in the back of her car during the ceremony…_

……_..of the first glass of red wine that had tempted her as a safe delightful way of escaping the nightmares she had while she was wide awake…_

………_..of the relaxing scent of bergamot in the cup of Earl Grey his mother had always liked…_

……………_..of the manufactured pasty chocolate in all those orphaned smarties that did not fit in the perfectly tidy lines she had to form on the kitchen table… _

……………………_..of warmth_

………………………_..of respect_

……………………………_of gratitude_

…………………………………_..of illusions_

………………………………………_of shattered hopes_

…………………………………………_of remorse, and faith, and courage_

……………………………………………_of honesty, forgiveness and fear_

………………………………………………_of grief, loneliness and need_

…………………………………………………_of love_

_And Empathy._

They desperately clinged to each other's skin and flavours, and breathed in the everlasting scent of the other, making it their own. Gradually, Alison fell asleep with her face buried deep in the hollow of his neck and he spent he last of it lulling her, lingering in the spiky caress of her blond hair as if giving her benediction.

Alison and Robert remained wrapped in a tight embrace.

No more tears, no more lamentation. No more struggling, for they had not lost a war but won so much together.

Reaching the acceptance stage of grief, ware that morning light would steal their moment forever very soon.

Soon.

But not _Yet._


	5. Epilogue: Reunion

**Epilogue**

Alison took off her right glove and the oversized sunglasses as soon as she entered the crowded chapel, even though she would have kept them on just to hide the absence of make-up and her blood-shot eyes from inquisitive onlookers. She was surprised at the number of people who had congregated there that morning to say goodbye to Robert. In fact, there were not enough seats for everyone when it was supposed to be a private service, for family and closest friends only. It was not that she doubted that Robert had made so many friends and met so many people throughout his life. Given his caring and extroverted nature, she was sure that there were surely many people who had not been able to make it to the service. Nevertheless, she recognized some of the faces that spoke in whispers on both sides of the front portico. Young, haggard faces she had encountered endless times in her visits to the campus. Many of them stared right through her in shock, not really seeing her. Other students wept or comforted their classmates. A few sighed in exasperation, wondering what the hell they were doing up so early in the morning when they could be sleeping the drunkenness of the previous night away. Debating in their heads if the effort would be really taken into consideration by Dr. Sinyard after all and reflecting on the truth behind the rumours that said that everyone in Dr. Bridge's group would be given a general pass mark by the end of the term.

The medium rolled her eyes and looked away. Still, she would not dare to get too close to the front benches and invade…the family's privacy, so she stood on the same spot. A bit disorientated, she searched for a free place somewhere quieter and darker between the columns that lined both sides of the main gathering area of the church and sustained the ribbed vault. A place where she could watch the ceremony without interfering with anybody's mourning and struggle with her own grief in peace.

Next to the holy water font she found two gentlemen in his early sixties, upholstered in twin tweed jackets and that exhibited what were clearly intended to be distinguished manners. A couple of retired professors or iron-handed Heads of Department, she ventured. Alison parked her prejudice and approached them with a tiny smile, ready to ask whether 'they would be so kind so as to share the space with her'. Good Oxford education vanished as they ignored her apologies and flew the nest, muttering words of disgust. Fine. She would have the box with the greatest view all to herself…

Right at the front of the nave, before the altar, there it rested the fine cherry coffin. The lid was sealed, thank God, but overwhelmed with dozens of bouquets and two monstrous wreaths of fresh flowers that charged the air of a sickeningly sweet fragrance that made her dizzy. Amongst the exaggerated flora that surrounded his wood-encased body she spotted a poster-sized picture of a very young Robert Bridge presiding over what looked like a conscientious graphic report showing the best-Kodak moments throughout his life.

Alison shivered, and instinctively tugged the front of her gabardine more tightly closed. Still shaken, she could not escape the heart-broken and upset Barbara Sinyard that was coming through the central aisle in her direction. In fact, she did not react until they were locking gazes.

They both knew what kind of comments and salutations situations like that one imposed on people, especially when the sense of loss was true, sincere and mutual. But it would have been so wrong at so many levels for them to play hypocrisy that neither could bring herself to express the condolences. They remained in silence, uncertain, with affliction bleeding through their eyes. The circle of nosy students seemed to connect their satellite dishes in order to catch at least part of the tense exchange. Expecting (some wishing) the worst to happen between the two of them.

The Head of the Psychology Department of Bristol University had aged years in a couple of days. She had puffy lids and a recently earned cobweb of wrinkles crossed her always stoical features.

Alison blinked. It was like looking at a brunette version of herself reflected on a mirror. Pity overtook every other feeling she had ever experienced for and against Robert's boss.

"My deepest sympathy, Doctor.", Alison managed to say at last, her hoarse voice cracking in the attempt, while extending her naked hand. Calling a truce.

"Please…", the other woman groaned. "It's Barbara". She corrected her with the same stern tone she used with her students. Her handshake was brief and dry but proved her weakness. "I reckon we needn't be bothered with following the protocol, don't you think?".

The medium nodded. She might be right for a change…

"You see…Jude, Robert's…", Barbara choked a sob at the mention of his name.

"I'm well aware of who she is…was…to Robert". Her rectification in the middle of the sentence gave Barbara the second she desperately needed to regain her composure.

"Well… she caught a glimpse of you coming in a moment ago, and…". Her trade-marked frown and the grimace when clenching her jaw hinted that she was making a huge effort of carrying a civil conversation with her. An honourable display of respect and affection for Robert's memory, she guessed. 'Jude has sent me to invite you to join us." A polite pause. "You can always stay here on your feet through the whole ceremony, if you prefer, of course". The alternative was proposed too quickly for Alison's taste but it was a start. At least she could not detect a trace of cynicism in the psychologist's voice but an unusual softness she would have never believed her capable of. Barbara was giving her a choice, after all, regarding the role she was to perform in the drama.

"Rob… would have liked you to be by the family", she explained herself, as if searching for a justification for her sudden sympathy under half of Bristol's sceptical scrutiny. Glares from every direction drilled holes into Alison and told her that she was not exactly a welcome sight at the very moment. People who respected Robert, who had loved him, were still recovering from the fact that the local charlatan that had brought so much shame and mockery to that clever and hard-working boy had had the insolence to come to his funeral.

When they reached the unoccupied seat on the second row, the grieving widow turned to her with little…- what was it?oh, yes. Morgan-, asleep in her arms. Or that's what she supposed, for the child was so peaceful and calm despite the buzzing background noise, that she could only get a peek of fluffy blond hair amongst the bundle of baby-blue blankets they had him wrapped in. Grateful that someone trustworthy would relieve her of the sweet weight of her son for a while, Barbara (who looked in serious need of a rest herself) deftly took the baby and rocked it in her arms until it rested in a more comfortable position for both woman and child.

And so they met again, awkwardly, in the focus of multitudinous attention. 

**_TBC_**

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**_R&R, please! Thank you :) _**


	6. Epilogue:  Hey Jude

**_Special dedications: _**To Fiona's and Kimmo's success in their exams this week You've made us all very proud and happy Cheers! And, of course, to Lau, SandraLara and Regi, and all the wonderful fanartists at TV TALK, for sharing their talent with the world in such a generous manner

It's short and kind of uneventful but hope you enjoy it all the same Please Read and Review.

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_Previously: …And so they met again, awkwardly, in the focus of multitudinous attention..._

However, the curious and impertinent glares that were shot their way meant nothing at the moment. The two women refrained from extending the traditional words of condolence, the un-heartfelt and poorly comforting hug. They did not exchange reproaches about the tense dispute on the phone that had made them burst into tears the previous midnight either. Pain was liquid hot and its burns showed clearly enough through every pore of their skin, connecting them. Twin expressions of defeat and deep loss contorted their features, proving the truth of Alison's feelings, as her grief sang in tune with Jude's.

Jude had developed sunken eyes and dark bags under her eyes since the last time they met. And even though those would have seemed pretty surrealistic on her once radiant visage, the haggard face she wore now suited her mood. The sincere but weak handshake she was welcomed with emphasized Jude's exhaustion. To tell the truth, Robert's wife looked like hell, aged many years overnight. Alison restrainedly returned the greeting, afraid that the other woman's hand would break under the light pressure of her fingers. As she sat down, the medium prayed to God, to her mother and even to Robert himself, to give her strength to go through that day without showing anyone up, herself included.

The ceremony began with no hysterical incidents. The hymns were sang, the priest solemnly read his sermon and then reminded them of eternal life-Amen. Eventually, after all prayers were said, a young man and a teary young woman made their way up to the altar to serve as spokespeople representing all of Robert's students, even those who had already graduated and were now in practise as full-grown psychologists all over the country. Together, the couple managed to read their panegyric in turns and all the attendant's hearts filled with their sincere gratitude, admiration and sorrow. It was a really touching speech with sweet words of praise and good memories about metaphysical debates in the park or over empty cartons of pizza and exciting excursions to the local charlatans, to study and haunt hoaxes as if they were enigmatic and amusing specimens. All in all, their tales of knowledge and fun warmed the room and brought tears to everyone's eyes. Everyone but the blonde woman in the second row, whose impenetrable barrier of robot-like trance couldn't be breached by those flashbacks to better times. Alison was aware that the Robert who was being exalted by his pupils that day was just one of his multiple faces, uniquely his but still another mask which he had used to cover his naked insecurity all over the years. The mask he had worn the night they had met and that she had tried so hard to take off while admiring the committed and self-sacrificing disposition he had felt towards teaching, training and educating those young people. Nevertheless, she wondered if all those kids that worshipped him and put their young mentor on a pedestal ever had the chance to know the real Robert, the vulnerable, timid and sweet man behind the petulance and the false omniscience of the doctorate diploma that was hung on his office wall.

Then it was Barbara's turn to break the promise she had made to a comatose Robert and cry her eyes out over the neat lecture she had prepared for the event as soon as she placed the notes upon the lectern. The woman, who had made of composure a science, with her high-head, stiff posture and proud gait, now couldn't carry her chin lower or her shaky shoulders any more sunken. Her pretence was chained around her ankle and she dragged her old haughtiness around like a ball. Even little Morgan sympathyzed with her and let out a pitiful whimper. His mother decided that it was the best time to come to her friend's rescue and return her to the safe seat at the bench, with the intention of preserving what little strength she still got and before she collapsed in front of the whole university board.

All of a sudden, in a reflex movement full of a trust she surely hadn't gained as of late, the sleeping child was thrust in her unoccupied arms. Arms who had not held a baby since she had finished her Paediatric rotations during her nurse training years. She was grateful that the little one hadn't slipped to the floor in the first second but maybe that was only because baby hands had instinctively grabbed the string of beads around her neck the moment he landed on her lap. She relaxed a little bit, for Morgan seemed to be fiercely attached to her for as long as he played with the necklace in dreams. Just as she began to breathe in relief, she panicked, the baby stirred and lazily opened his greenish eyes, annoyed and ready to give one hell of a crying session to his mother for the bumpy ride she had given him. He found a couple of new eyes, different from his mother's comforting caramel gaze. Huge, riveted in black, staring at him too intensely to feel familiar, were the deepest blue eyes he had ever seen. As blue as the little fish that spun above his head and out of his reach when they left him in his cradle. But it was odd, the feeling he got from the blue. He was not afraid of it, as it was gentle and caring.

Woman and child seemed lost in awe, trying to read each other's expression. Alison smiled at him and the baby gurgled and extended his tiny fist trying to catch her nose in the process, just for the sake of checking if it was false or not. The innocent gesture of the infant aroused a surge of tenderness from the emptiness of her barren womb.

Alison gave in the impulse to caress the baby's soft blond hair. It reminded her of Joshie's and decided that even if he was carried Robert's genes, one day that little boy would become as handsome as his half-brother had been. She had been so engrossed in her own thoughts and looking after Morgan that she had not payed attention to all too familiar piano melody that echoed through the speakers of the church, raising up to the vault and beyond the stone walls of the chapel as the most exquisite of requiems. She couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her.

_And any time you feel the pain, hey, Jude, refrain  
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders  
Well don't you know that its a fool who plays it cool  
By making his world a little colder _

Up in the platform, Jude drummed her fingers next to the mycrophone and made the effort to hum the song. It was a bit out of tune but she did not seem to care about that any more than about following the lyrics. Eventually, she allowed herself to get carried away by the beat of the music thumping in her heart and pulsing in her veins. She had this secretive smile, drawn by some invisible DaVinci, a rictus which Alison couldn't quite define due to the paradoxical mixture of bittersweet surprise, pure nostalgia and the delighted excitement a child gets on Christmas Day. It was the picture of the kid who had been expecting that gift all year long but still couldn't let go of the longing and dreaming, of hoping and the sense of excitement that uncertainty brought, keeping you wide awake on Christmas Eve.

_So let it out and let it in, hey, Jude, begin  
You're waiting for someone to perform with  
And don't you know that it's just you, hey, Jude,  
You'll do, the movement you need is on your shoulder _

_Hey, Jude, don't make it bad  
Take a sad song and make it better  
Remember to let her into your heart  
Then you can start to make it better_

_Robert was pure genius_. He had blatantly planned everything to the very detail. He had expected emotions to take over their reason and soothe their anguished souls. To the endless chorus of _Na-na-nas_ of John, Paul and Jude and the excessive fanfare of cymbals, trumpets and tambourines, joined the accompaniment of throaty young voices coming from the back of the church. Grinning faces and palms clapping in synchrony, the enthusiasm spread like wildfire through all the rows until almost everyone lifted their voices into the song. Even the most respectable and stern of those women and men with their long grey faces and dark coats had to surrender to the pulse of power that were the Beatlemania flowing from person to person, swallow their scandalized grimaces and intone some 'Hey, Jude!'. The ancient windows vibrated and the polished marble floors trembled with their improvised concert. And maybe she was imagining things but someone was bawling behind her and it certainly sounded as if they had decided to make a very realistic impersonation of Lennon and was succeeding in channelling the wildest and most eccentric of his singing raves. Alison did not need to turn around as the voice was perfectly recognizable to her. Suddenly, it was not too hard or surrealistic to go back in time, to the late eighties, and imagine the dishevelled psychology doctor and her most brilliant student having fun in the middle of a karaoke party, singing that crazy duet until their throats ached in the effort, while Jude feigned annoyance but inevitably exploded in laughter for the sacrilege perpetrated against the poor song.

_No_, she whispered into the baby's ear, who kept trying to join the fandango with gurgling noises. _Jude knows the music and the lyrics, and she'll come to learn the meaning of the song, to play it by heart. She will never be alone even if she loses the rhythm…_

**_TBC..._**


	7. Epilogue: Nightminds

_**The end is near. Thank you very much if you've sticked to Nightminds so far. I really apologize for the delayed mini-updates... **_

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The final notes of the song went unnoticed for most of the attendants, who were still chorusing _nahnahnahsHeyJudens_ as if their lives depended on it. Slowly, as the absent-minded singers realized that the party was over, the noise, laughter and voices began to fade away till silence reigned once more. However, nothing could have wiped the nostalgic smiles from their flushed and suffocated faces. Jude was standing up with her fist buried in the centre of her chest in an attempt to quiet her racing heart, which threatened to explode any minute due to the intensity of emotions pumping in her veins. The other hand was gripping the border of the stand, preventing her from collapsing on shaky legs, while she was obviously making a titanic effort to regain control of her tongue.

"T-thank you all…", she managed to say at last in a thin voice that bordered on aphony. "…for coming here today to… well, to commemorate his life and not his passing, as Robert wished. Because I think he would tell you so if he had had the chance…". Alison tilted her head when she caught the subtle wink in the other woman's eye, the person she had almost detested with deep loathing for trying to take Robert from her and breaking off their friendship. "We all…we all were his family, witnesses of the tragedies he had to suffer throughout his life but of his happiness too. He lived life to its fullest. Perhaps he did not have time to do heroic deeds and never would. Gosh, I can say I'm relieved that he never got to make that journey around the world on a sailing ship he fantasized about when we were younger!". Some knowing chuckles supported her and lightened things up. "In spite of the unaccomplished dreams, Rob had a rich life he was just starting to embrace and enjoy with all his heart, mind and soul". Jude said this with an overwhelming certainty and a radiant smile that formed dimples in the corners of her mouth. "After all, he was all about learning. Learning new and exciting things about the whole world: from his parents, whom he missed dearly, his friends, his pupils, his colleagues… from everyone God had moved forward to cross paths with him. And even if his sharp, rational and scientific mind ever prevailed over his feelings, I don't know how he achieved the perfect balance in the end, but he took all those lessons in life and all those people and engraved them into his heart. And then he taught us all, passing on the illusion and vitality that made Him. That were Him. Robert gave it freely with each and every one of his smiles, with his support. Even when Joshie died…he was so very brave. More than I ever was and more than he ever realized. In the end, he showed admirable strength and moved on to keep learning and teaching us to see through his lens. I really hope that we'll take his last lesson and remember it always, so that we make the most of our lives and use them whenever we need to lean on one another. Right here, right now, in this moment of…pain and the ones that surely will come in the future. I pray that his light will lead us to the end of the proverbial tunnel he never tired of talking about…". The applause drowned the rest of her speech. Jude waited till the clapping stopped and cleared her voice before continuing. "Robert would have loved to tell you all of that in person… but, even with his knowledge and his natural way with words, sometimes… finding the right words to express his own emotions became a bit hard for him…". She was forced to lift a hand to pacify the murmurs of protest and scepticism that came from the back of the church. "…so, upon his written request", she waved a sheet of paper in the air. "I'll ask you to listen carefully to the next song, as many of you will find it is not as popular as the previous one. However, it must have been meaningful to Robert somehow for him to be so ardent in sharing it with us today". She made a pause and swallowed. "To _You_". Jude read the cryptic and vague dedication without casting her eyes away from the paper. To her signal, the person in charge of the stereo system pressed the play button and the ghostly notes of a piano floated above them. A girl's voice, echoing with a deep melancholy, accompanied the tearful widow in her descent from the altar.

_Just lay it all down.  
Put your face into my neck and l__et it fall out.  
I know, I know, I know. I knew before you got home.  
This world you're in now,  
it doesn't have to be alone,  
I'll get there somehow, 'cos  
I know I know I know  
when, even springtime feels cold.__  
_  
_But I will learn to breathe this ugliness you see,  
so we can both be there and we can both share the dark.  
And in our honesty, together we will rise,  
out of our nightminds, and into the light  
at the end of the fight..._

A light pressure on her forearm awoke Alison from her distressed reverie. Jude locked gazes with her, both of them well aware of the strange feeling of empathy that burned in their hearts and that filled the space between them with waves of sorrow that had the same resonance frequency as the violin melody from the recording. The baby was gently returned to the arms he rightfully belonged into. His mother rocked him and patted his back lovingly, while Alison found herself with only emptiness in her hands and all her focus set on the lyrics, which brought back too many memories of him. An ode to friendship, sung with that aussie accent, velvety soft, that spoke of hurt and defeat, of the slippery monsters that live within ourselves and threaten to break us. A song of fear, of loneliness and exclusion, of understanding and giving, about the sacrifices we make for the people we love the most. Of how it's the little gestures that really count and help us save them once and again, rescue them in the darkest moments of despair and weakness.

_You were blessed by  
a different kind of inner view: it's all magnified.  
__The highs would make you fly,  
but the lows make you want to die.  
And I was once there,  
hanging from that very ledge where you are standing.  
So I know, I know, I know,  
it's easier to let go.  
_  
_But I will learn to breathe this ugliness you see,  
so we can both be there and we can both share the dark.  
And in our honesty, together we will rise out of our nightminds  
and into the light at the end of the fight._

_...and in our honesty, together we will rise out of our nightminds  
and into the light... at the end of the fight..._

Alison held back a soft chuckle. Finally… she got it. His message. Truly got it. He was with her, always would be. Even if she couldn't see him or hear his voice. Or feel him in any way. He would be walking after her. In the air she was breathing in, in the memories she would treasure forever, in the little boy that sucked his thumb in sleep beside her. In the woman that was holding the baby as if it was going to vanish in the next blink of her eyes. Robert would be in those songs. In their hearts. In the aura of protection and safety, of trust and serenity that had cocooned her that morning when she had woken up all alone on a corner of her kitchen that looked like a surrealistic Picasso with pieces of glass scattered everywhere and the brushstrokes of dried wine crossing the tiles and the walls

She felt lighter than ever, floating in the weightlessness that was breaking free of the pain and the grief. Liberated by an optimism that seemed to drill a thousand holes in the heavy gravestone that she had been carrying over her heart for days since the premonitions had begun to haunt her dreams. Alison felt alive, full of energy and strength to move on, to rebuild her life with a certain dignity from the ruins of the no-life she had been dragging like a ball and chain for ages.

And she could have never done it without him.

She was _free _because of Robert.

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Review? Please?? I'd really appreciate knowing what you think of the story or the translation... but anyway, thanks for reading :)  



	8. Epilogue: The end of the tunnel

**Author's Note:** To you, who are reading this. Thanks for always, thanks for everything It's been quite the bilingual adventure And special Alerty salutation to my first and only "Nightminds" reviewer: Bacard. I won't forget your kindness ;) A zillion thanks :D

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As soon as the service was over, Jude and Barbara leant on each other all the way to the portico of the church, where they said goodbye and thank-yous to everyone who approached them in order to offer their condolences. Some of the nosiest onlookers made a detour around the coffin, walking by Alison's side, just for the sake of prying into Robert's family pictures. The few decent people that queued behind the ones fulfilling their curiosity and morbid greed remained around enough to pay their respects to a lifeless picture before leaving.

After ten minutes of shepherding students out of the chapel, she was left alone with the only company of the kid in charge of the sound equipment and the chaplain, who stood vigilant behind the altar, sweeping the place with his narrowed gaze assessing possible damage to historic patrimony. Seizing the chance of privacy, Alison finally made the decision to come closer to the coffin. She wondered if he would be buried in the graveyard of that very same chapel or somewhere else, in some private family mausoleum in his home town. Maybe he'd be cremated and had prepared everything to have his ashes spread above the Severn estuary. She imagined he would have liked that... or perhaps she was wrong to believe it.

_So many things_, she thought, that _she was clueless about_. Things she had never got to ask him, that she would have liked to know and share with him. Questions that would remain forever unanswered…

Her blue eyes danced over the different snapshots that portrayed his childhood, his teenage years and a young adult Robert. She felt hypnotized by the changes he exhibited over the years. It was not only noticeable in his physical appearance, in the loss of the cute chubby cheeks or the darkening of his once golden hair, which made Josh the spitting image of his father. It was not that he grew up to be the tall and lanky teenager in his high-school yearbook, with the long unkempt hair of a rebel or the shadow of stubble. All of a sudden, he blossomed and turned into the gorgeous man she had met, without the malicious acne of youth, and became the owner of a set of broader shoulders. But that was not the deepest change life and time had carved on him. She sensed the Change in little details, like the sharper gaze, clever but kind, filled with knowledge and self-confidence. It was in the endless joy and pride shinning through his eyes as he examined the perfect five-fingered fist of his baby-born son while holding Jude's hand in his own and ignoring her protests about having any more pictures taken that day. The change was in the shy curve of lips of a schoolboy which gradually morphed into a lady-killer's smile and then was turned-off by Fate in the most recent images, where he looked gravely sombre to the camera with a forced smile on. Changes that traced lines all over his thirty-something-year-old face, proving more loss, regret and sorrow than what any man so young was ever prepared to face on his own.

"He was dreamy, our Robert, wasn't he?", a determined voice asked on her left.

Alison tore her eyes away from the picture and did not hesitate. "Indeed he was. More than should be allowed for a University lecturer, in fact".

They laughed. Morgan, in his stroller, seemed to agree with a gleeful gurgle. God. It was all so…awkward.

The medium turned to safe territory searching what poor comfort she could find in Kodak-Robert's light-blue eyes.

"You can take that pic with you…". The offer fell like a bomb. "…if you want to. They are all copies of the originals".

Silence wrapped them tightly in its uneasy embrace.

"I…", Alison started, in a flawed attempt of relighting the conversation.

"Yes. I know. Me too…".

How Robert's wife knew what she was referring to, she would never guess, but the last itch of tension and rivalry between them vanished. It was nothing, really, just a childish game when confronting reality.

"Thank you…for the song". Alison's voice carried heartfelt gratitude.

Jude, née Wilson-Jones, future ex-Gilman, always Bridge in her heart… shrugged. She had had nothing to do with that particular selection. She would have been fiercely against the idea of playing the song at his funeral in other circumstances. Oh, but she had loved him deeply, still did, and she would have never forgiven herself if she had let that grudge come across her sense of duty, her personal commitment and the promise to see that his death wish was fulfilled. Besides, it would have been cruel and unfair to deprive…other people who loved him dearly of having their own peace of mind.

"Alison…". Her name sounded shaky but without the usual poison. She nodded, surprised at the respect and tact in the other woman's tone. "Robert left something for you at his home". Jude began rummaging in the travelling bag that was hung in the handlebar of the pushchair but finally found what she was looking for and extended it to her. The plastic bag was heavy in Alison's hand and the feeble handles did not look too suitable to resist the pull of gravity, so she held whatever it was to her chest with both arms.

Confusion was obvious in her eyes.

"It's…the script of the book he was working on. The only printed copy he got to revise and make the first corrections. He had chapters scattered all over the boathouse, in his office, at home…", she bit her lower lip. "I've tried to put it together as best as I could but I think he never got to write the final chapter. I found a blank page with the word 'Epilogue' at the top, as if it were the title, but", and she frowned thoughtfully. "I believe he….he intended for you to read what he had written so far and write that Epilogue yourself. He wanted you to co-write and finish the book".

The exhalation of breath was held back in her chest, burning her lungs, when she opened the folder.

_**Afterlife**_ – Robert Bridge, Psy.D; Alison Mundy.

A snapshot of herself was clipped to the corner of the first page, and she noticed the incriminatory prints left onto the image by the same fingers which had played with her hair the night before.

Alison turned every page of the script with utter reverence. Here and there, stains of coffee or tea tinged the margins and licked away some of the final letters of each sentence. Crossing-outs in red-pen left words like 'fake' or 'hoax' barely recognizable. There were notes, also in red, in his handwriting in every available space. Expressions underlined with different phosphorescent felt-tip pens. 'The truth'. 'Neurotic disorders of the personality'. 'PTSD: Post-traumatic stress disorder'. 'Coma'. 'Faith'.

Robert, Robert, Robert…

She did not know a thing about writing!

"Listen…". Jude waved her hands in the air, expressively, as soon as she sensed Alison's anxiety. "I reckon Robert's idea was very noble. His aim was giving you the chance of completing his work, giving your own version of the story, of the topics Robert discusses through the book. Explaining the world what you really do, why you do it, how. You'll never have another opportunity like this one. Free of condemnation and censorship to talk in first person about yourself and mediums and…that world of spirits you're supposed to be coping with constantly. With some science supporting the facts and making the most of Robert's credibility in the academic circles'. Jude paused to take a breath and seemed to calm down. 'Even if you won't write…you must know that…well, that he would have never published this project of yours without your approval and your blessing. Not even as classroom material'.

Alison believed her. It was what Robert would have done.

"Either he was meaning to request this himself…", Jude continued, well aware of her husband's like for tests and the challenge of self-improvement and personal development. "…or he would have given you the script as some kind of gift in the end. Just…because he felt he could still help you move on through it".

The blond woman returned the items back to the plastic bag in silence and then she readjusted the bag in her arm as comfortably as she could. She shot a fulminating glance in the direction of a picture of an adult Robert. He corresponded with his cunning smile and her heart warmed up. Alison turned to her other spectators. Jude had already released the brakes of the pushchair and was rocking her child, whose eyes were closing shut easily due to the midday drowsiness.

Alison caressed the baby's head, now covered with a tiny wool bonnet, and lifted her eyes to Jude's, who wore the hopeful expression of someone who's expecting some message from up above.

"He crossed over. That means he did not have unfinished business here…amongst us". Jude's jaw quivered and her chin sank low. Alison interpreted the gesture as disappointment. She felt a pang of guilt and feared that Jude might have not understood that him coming to terms with his death was a good thing. A fantastic thing, even. He was at peace with himself and the world, ready to go to Joshie. When Jude raised her eyes again, she could have swum in the sea of relief she found in them.

"I'm glad he has made it. It's for the best…".

"Yes. It is.", she confessed. The balm of acceptance soothed the anguish of both women. "Jude?".

Robert's wife motioned for her to go on.

"Would you mind if I… well, whenever you are ready and I could steal some of your time, of course", Alison signaled the sweet child who was turning the dummy around in his mouth in dreams. "Would it be possible that I dropped by your house to ask you a few questions?".

Jude did not shake his head but wrinkled her nose in disconcert.

"To complete Robert's book", she explained. "I…can only thing of one way of finishing what he started. And it's telling Robert's story. After all, he's as much a part of me as every spirit I've ever encountered in my life. I'd rather have you and Doctor Sinyard, his friends and colleagues, as source of information than just… pouring in the text whatever limited, distorted and subjective vision I might have got of him. I'm afraid I would be too biased and maybe portray him with less accuracy that I'd do with your help".

Jude took her time to weight up the pros and cons of accepting the request.

"I don't think you would be. Inaccurate, I mean…", she offered, motioning for her to get out of the chapel to leave the people in charge of the cremation alone so they could work. Outside the cold, not as harsh as when they entered the church, caressed their cheeks and reminded them that springtime was not too far away. Barbara was patiently waiting for Jude next to her car. She looked much calmer, more focused and even gave a nod in Alison's direction. Alison waved her hand in reply. "Neither Barb nor me will stop you from that task, Alison. We owe Robert and I…I trust you'll know to pay the proper tribute he deserves'. She let out a life-long sigh. "Rest assured that you can count on us with this ".

"I appreciate it. I'll give you a call when the time comes", she promised with her heart on her sleeve. "Take care of yourselves, Jude". Gratitude swing up the corner of her mouth in a quiet smile. "The three of you…".

They hugged.

Alison stood watching as Jude pushed the carriage till she met Barbara, who held her in a loose embrace and gave a friendly and supportive squeeze to her shoulder.

Through the greyish clouds that covered Bristol's sky that morning, a ray of bright light cast shimmering reflections on her blond curls.

_So there it was - __the end of the tunnel…_

**_THE END_**_  
_


End file.
